


Staring at the Stars

by Cale



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Frostiron Fest 2013, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:53:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cale/pseuds/Cale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki, having found out about his lineage much earlier and much more pleasantly than he did in Thor I, is an Ambassador of Asgard. Tony Stark is the same snarky asshole we know him to be. What would happen if the two had met on these terms rather than those of Avengers?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Staring at the Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Makava](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makava/gifts).



> Hello! It was such an honor to fill this request for you. I apologize if I didn't hit on everything you were hoping. If that's the case, I would be more than happy to continue this into a second chapter (or, honestly, if you'd like to see a second chapter regardless, I really wouldn't say no). Merry Frostmas!

_I will remember your face,_  
 _'cause I am still in love with that place._  
 _But when the stars are the only things we share,_  
 _will you be there?_

 

It’s an out of date, piece of shit, rusting hunk of metal by the time he brings it out again. Of all people, Tony should know better about how to treat his toys. When it came to sentimental leftovers, however, it was best out of sight and out of mind and hell, when did he ever find himself needing a telescope, anyway?

There’s no reason for him to be up on this hill, on a perfectly fine evening such as this, suit cast aside after his flight upstate. Upstate, naturally, being an understatement. He supposes there’s a pun in there somewhere but he’s too distracted. You could really see the stars out here. Away from all the city lights. The most light pollution out here came from some overly suspicious gas station with a motion sensor on their alien camera because hey, you never knew in these rural parts. If only.

But now he’s setting up the legs of the mechanism, pointing its eye skyward and settling into the grass, legs around either side of the trifold and he can remember the last time he did this, on his roof, all those months ago. 

“ _Perhaps I’ll pay you a visit sometime again, Stark_.”

Hell, that was the closest he was ever going to get to a ‘see you later’. 

Cracking open another can, he leans his weight back and exhales against the cool air. It’s brisk up here this time of year, something he’s not accustomed to. Even in New York, his time is spent between heated locations and if he’s ever on the street for more than five minutes-well, he must be drunk and lost on his way to the food cart again. There are so many winking lights plastered across the evening that it’s hard to fathom them as anything but a functioning unit, another piece of machinery he’s attempting to dissect. He must look like a fucking idiot out here, on this eerie hilltop in the all but opaque darkness. Being a superhero did things to you, made you feel invincible in ways you’d have laughed at before. 

Superhero. As if he was ever. You couldn't believe everything you read in the headlines.

There’s swirls of spectacular blues and hues of purple and he marvels at it, allowing himself to take it in for the first time since he’s arrived. And of course he can’t see fucking Asgard or wherever the hell that asshole fucked off to (who knew, really, he was a lithe bastard), but there’s something reassuring when Tony makes himself look at the stars and forces himself to believe he’s looking beyond them.

There’s a fascination he can’t shake, something unfamiliar to him in many regards (especially when that fascination is a living, breathing-he assumes-life form). His fingers stretch across the grass, damp and chilled, and something in him hopes that if he stretches them far enough they’ll find something equally as cold yet far more reassuring. 

Loki is tall and firm and unwavering in ways that Tony does not understand, something else infinitely irritating about him. He’s unrelatable in ways Tony supposes he might be, himself, and every time he looks at Loki he can’t help but find him something like a reflection. The negative strip of film that will eventually develop into himself. 

People joke about things dropping right out the sky and into their lives. Tony doesn't, that’s too close to home, and last time he told Thor a joke about it (‘did it hurt when you fell from heaven, big boy?’) he ended up in a bar at seven in the morning asking, “What do you mean it’s too early on a fucking Sunday?” 

It’s not long after that that he’s packing up his things and leaving, rocketing into the sky and giving partial thought to just how far he’d make it into the atmosphere if he just gunned it right there and then. 

He remembers New York and does not. 

\-----------------

_People in the churches started singing above their hands._  
 _They say,_  
 _"My God is a good God and He cares.”_

\-----------------

It’s another couple of months before he sees him again. Not in the way he’s spent imagining and with far less ease than he’s been hoping for. They barely look at each other and the only time they do is shortly lived. It’s especially awkward when Thor approaches, claps Loki on the shoulder fondly and begins to ask him how things are on Mars or wherever the fuck their family lives. Tony envies the natural way that Thor’s hand falls on Loki’s armor, remembers the way it feels on his own fingertips. _It was one fucking night, that’s not exactly abnormal for you._

Loki has been dropping in on them for the past year on this one, some sort of consultant of affairs. It suites him, the title of a diplomat-the man is every bit a reluctant politician. Silver-tongued and amiable when he wants you to think as much. But Tony can see through it, knows how that kind of mind works. Knows way too much about someone he hardly knows.

He’d like to know more.

Cap is more approachable and far easier to pick on and therefore, it’s a clear choice for Tony to bother him instead of eavesdropping on a conversation both boring and irrelevant to him. Somewhere before his punchline and after a good minute of attempting to get Cap to understand the concept of Drag Queen Bingo, there’s a voice rising behind him that stops him in his tracks and turns his words into mostly consonants.  
“I believe I owe you a drink.”

\-----------------

‘Long time, no see,’ Tony doesn't say, settling into the bar stool beside the lanky, pale man at his side and choosing between five different coasters while disliking every option. “So, Buzz Lightyear, how’s space?” he breaks in, looking over to Loki and musing over the way he scrutinizes a beer menu he wasn't aware existed. 

“Exhausting,” comes a lazy response strewn with obvious distraction. Tony recognizes small talk for what it is, can utilize it when necessary. When everything in him is screaming, ‘are intergalactic calls too expensive to drop a line now and then?’  
“You’re a busy bee,” he continues seamlessly, pulling his own menu towards himself curiously. Like he doesn't know what they keep on tap here. Like he’s some kind of stranger to this place. It’s interesting to note the amount of times he’s been here with one thing on his mind now that the one thing is here beside him. So interesting, he doesn't.

Twelve.

He can feel the way Loki’s brows knit; doubtlessly processing the metaphor Tony’s labeled him with before he turns his laminated menu over. “You Midgardians certainly enjoy your variety,” he insults towards a defenseless piece of paper. Tony is also well-versed in the area of avoidance.

“Go with the Blue Point,” he guesses as a suggestion. He does, and it makes two of them.

Tony Stark doesn't do crushes, does not fundamentally understand them. There are flings and frequencies and that number you call up every few years wondering if an old acquaintance is still just as lonely as you are. His interest in Loki is an equation he knows the solution to, but not the method. If asked to show his work, he could never recreate the problem. It is unscientific.

And in this lighting, his jawline is so perfect it should be etched into a monument. 

They’re three rounds in when Tony lets himself slip and maintains eye contact for a fraction of a second too long. It does not go unnoticed. For every part of Loki that Tony relates to on a subconscious stream, he has to wonder if it’s a mutual observation. Judging from the way Loki is looking at him now, Tony would assume it is. Somewhere along his complaints of media and tabloid magazines, he is interrupted.

“You seem troubled, Stark.” The words have no tone. They are an accusation without venom; unencumbered. Their bland delivery is what stops Tony. The way Loki is able to sound so honestly naïve is baffling and impressive.  
“Limelight is a bitch,” is all he says, taking a long sip of his beer and ordering another. 

\-----------------

The first time they met was anything but charming. Of course, Tony had never been a fan of uninvited guests. Or SHIELD. Or uninvited SHIELD guests. So when he arrives (late) to the conference room in the Tower and there’s an extra body in the room, the least he can do is pay it as little attention as possible.

“Don’t we have a guest list or something?” is the most he quips, settling into his seat and immediately reclining, elbows propped on the chair’s arms. The new face addresses him wordlessly, curiously, and for a moment Tony forgets he’s pretending not to care. He’s all limbs and pale skin set against raven black hair that’s tied back and away from his features into a long ponytail. The contrast of this and his eyes is breathtaking and Tony isn't sure he’s ever met a more familiar stranger. 

“Your new friends are so welcoming, brother,” he addresses towards Thor and it’s now that Tony realizes how long he’s been looking at the newcomer (and more importantly, how the newcomer still hasn't looked away, either). 

“Relax, Loki. This is Anthony Stark and that is simply his way of saying hello,” comes Thor’s response, chuckling to himself in clear appreciation of his own joke. Thor’s sense of humor took some getting used to and to be honest, wasn't ever really all that funny, but man did it hit it home with that laugh of his. There was something contagious about it. Especially now, where it seemed he was gleeful for other reasons, eyes practically shining as he gave Loki a friendly nudge. “Man of Iron, I introduce to you Prince of Asgard, Keeper of Relations, my brother-Loki.” At this point, the big oaf is practically beaming.

“Howdy,” Tony returns, otherwise portraying no gesture and remaining altogether unimpressed. 

Loki is nothing at all like his brother, except perhaps in frustrating height. He is lean and smooth and even on the battle field, seamless. Their smiles, even when faced at one another, are worlds apart. There are no physical features linking them aside from their attire; obviously some sort of ceremonial shit that Tony is uncultured in. 

It’s not until their third meeting that Tony asks him out for a drink.

\-----------------

Presently, they are exiting the bar some time later, the sun having set and left the city with an abrupt chill in its absence. The streets are coated with dirty snow leftover from the night before, wind whipping through the skyscrapers surrounding them and it’s the perfect storm, really. Drunk, preoccupied, and mid-sentence, Tony feels the soles of his shoes disagree with the underlying ice he should’ve known was there. He experiences that moment where you’re freefalling, just before your ass connects with the cold, hard ground and the reality that you've fucked up has set in. 

Except his ass never reaches the solidity of the sidewalk. It’s almost like it’s risen up to meet him. Like it’s risen up to meet him in the form of arms. Loki’s arms.

He’s in Loki’s arms. 

“My hero,” Tony thanks wryly, separating himself from the taller man and straightening, regaining his bearings.  
He retains that closeness for the duration of their journey back to the Tower.

\-----------------

This time around, Loki is staying at the Tower. His plans must be to stay for some length of time because he’s given a room in the east wing near Barton (much to Barton’s obvious displeasure, Tony notes, as he observes the man scowling in passing as they approach Loki’s door). “Merida,” he greets jovially, laughing at his own joke openly as a giveaway indicator that he’s been drinking. Clint, who is clearly behind the times when it comes to pop culture, does not react, merely going along his way with a half hazard nod and Tony swears he can hear the man mumbling as he puts distance between them at a quick pace.

He wonders to himself what’s so pressing that Loki is being stationed here. He’d mentioned around drink number five the current state of Jötunheim. While his duty as PR or whatever the hell he was dubbed on Asgard was considered highly classified or something that Tony cared equally as little about, Loki had a way of implying what he meant with various tired sighs and segways into other subjects. He supposed that meant complicated.

He can relate.

He says goodnight and is turning down the hall before Loki’s door is even shut.

\-----------------

" _I've got a plan, I've got an atlas in my hand.  
I'm gonna turn when I listen to the lessons I've learned._ "

\-----------------

The morning after is somehow more awkward for it, silence splayed across the table alongside Cheerios and it takes Cap’s uncomfortable attempt at breaking it to get Tony’s attention away from the night before. He can only imagine what Cap has made of the situation-no doubt he’s spoken to Barton about it and gotten nothing but innuendo and other things he doesn't understand but likes to squint at defiantly. 

“You don’t strike me as the bacon and eggs type,” Tony speculates as Loki enters the space of the dining area, receiving a skeptical knit of thin brows in response. “Am I meant to take insult in that?” Is what he gets back and truly, it does seem like Loki is attempting to discern whether or not Tony is making a jab at him. “Hey, that’s your call,” Tony doesn't clarify, taking his dishes to the sink and brushing past the other man.

\-----------------

There’s a reason Tony Stark is so good at what he does. The fundamental understanding of technology that he harbors is no mistake and even he can’t contribute everything to just some sort of natural luck of selection. Science makes sense to him in the very same way that numbers do-they are precise and unwavering. There are laws and formulas and exact measurements and conversions and there can never be any variance. If it is, it is. Nothing is hidden in science.

Loki is shrouded in mystery. 

And really, he finds it amazing, his ability to remain unseen while residing in the same building. The elusive nature of the Asgardian prince is astounding. One second, they’re in a briefing and there he is, plain as day. The next, Tony’s turning to leave early and catch him on his way out the door only to find that he’s gone. There were proposals that Tony couldn't tumble out of that fast and with far more reason. 

He supposes he’s never been that good at fleeing. Honestly, what was there to flee from?

If there were a champion at unattachment, Tony was the victor, and he’s never been good enough at this whole consistency thing to know when he’s on the wrong end. To know when he’s in too deep.

To know when he’s being avoided.

\-----------------

It’s been weeks since his last Loki sighting. Not that he has a Loki calendar that he marks off with each passing day, but he knows it’s been an assignment and a missed audit since their drink the night of Loki’s return. Generally, leaving a date preemptively had the opposite effect and he’d be knee deep in texts and missed calls and random knocks at his door turned down by Pepper with snide comments about how she isn't’t his housekeeper and rebuttals about how she was the closest thing he’s ever had to a Mrs. Hudson and was he really that impossible to be around that Loki felt the cold shoulder was necessary?

That’s when there’s a knock at his door one evening and he wonders briefly where Pepper is when he needs her. He can practically hear her answer from here. “Running your company for you. Remember, your company? You know, the one with your name on it?”

Lazily, he leans back in his chair and rings out. “Ocupado.”

There’s silence, and then the eerie feeling you get when it’s too quiet and suddenly it seems like something else is breathing the same air as you even though, as far as you’re aware, you’re alone when-  
“Is that not meant to imply that you are indecent?”

Startled, Tony springs forward in his chair, one arm already raised to call his suit before he’s able to calm himself down and recognize the voice that has so abruptly entered the space. Obviously, the owner of said voice finds this amusing. “Taking up Spanish, now? How enthusiastic of you.” He returns to his relaxed position in his chair, spinning around to face the perpetrator with obviously still-tense muscles. Loki is, of course, frustratingly flawless, all suave posture and amused eyes as he begins to explore Tony’s quarters without consent. Tony watches as he makes his way to a trinket on his desk, spinning it around and watching it revolve as the next words slide so seamlessly from his thin lips. “I apologize for my poor companionship as of late. I’ve been…Preoccupied.”

“Have you been ocupado?” The words slip out of Tony’s mouth before he’s able to assess them, preoccupied himself with Loki’s fascination. The side-eyed glare he gets in response is not unwarranted and it’s all he can do not to smile like a fool in its wake, something about his ability to agitate rewarding in a way it shouldn't be yet always is. Pepper calls his sense of humor childish. Tony’s never been very good with kids and therefore can’t say for sure, but dubs it unlikely. 

“These are tense times,” Loki doesn't lie. He’s not wrong, on several fronts. At first, Tony wasn't able to differentiate one double meaning from another innocent statement. He knows better now with Loki, knows that Loki never implies something he doesn't mean. It’s those nuances that still throw him for a loop. Like now. “You got that right. This morning Banner flushed the toilet while I was in the shower and you know what, I have a feeling that slick bastard knew what he was doing,” Tony rambles much to Loki’s disinterest. He can see his eyes narrowing in consideration from where he sits, like perhaps Tony is also playing a game of implications with his words. Really, even he wasn't sly enough to hide anything profound in recollections of Bruce’s passive-aggressive retaliations. 

It’s then that Loki is precipitously close, too close, hovering over Tony with hands propped on top of his forearms along the armrests of the chair. Tony can’t help but feel he’s been caught, pinned where he sits and looking further up at Loki than he is accustomed to. “Do you think often on our time shared beneath the stars?” Everything about Loki has caught him off guard, something he knows is being done intentionally. He is silent a beat longer than he should be and when he does speak again, his tone holds no reservations. “Do you?”

Their lips are connected before Tony has another chance to fuck it up, this closeness that he has spent so long pondering and picking apart all this time, and it’s exactly like he remembers. Like someone’s told him a secret he used to know. 

And then, there is nothing. As silently and suddenly as Loki appeared, he is gone, leaving Tony in a room with too much air and not enough lungs. He’s still but for a hand that reaches up to his lips where the taste of the Asgardian lingers. He feels them rise into a grin, something bittersweet that he can’t quite figure out about the way Loki’s lips have imprinted his own; something strange and out of place that he’s been craving.

Like a reminder and a be back soon left all in one note.

\-----------------

 

_I will remember your face,_  
 _'cause I am still in love with that place._  
 _But when the stars are the only things we share,_  
 _will you be there?_  



End file.
